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I took the test. Multiple, actually. All of them had the same conclusion, which was basically different ways of saying I have extreme impostor syndrome. Yeah, the extreme bit was disappointing. Should I try to console myself by remembering that I like scoring high on exams? Because hey, full marks.

When I was in therapy, my shrink asked me a series of questions that helped them uncover the source of my anxiety. I clearly remember this one session - I was asked to list down my accomplishments, big or small. I barely managed to put something together when they asked me to talk about them. After listening to me for a few minutes, they interrupted me and pointed out my excessive use of phrases like fortunate, lucky, I guess, decent enough, among others, as if I was scared that somebody would call me out for talking about my own successes. That was the first time I was shown irrefutable proof of my behavioral patterns.

I mean, I was the kind of kid who made a card for themselves on their birthday. There was a time when I could love myself. When did I stop celebrating that? When did I stop celebrating me? If my life happened to anybody else I know, I'd be parading the streets with trumpets and confetti.

It's going to be a long journey back to realizing that I'm enough, let alone good. I'm exhausted before even embarking on it. But I owe it to myself, don't I? There's too much to be done, can't do it with a faint heart.

Let's fucking go.

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